When He Had Nothing
by Disgarded
Summary: 1940's one-shot in which Steve finds out his mother has passed away and attends her funeral. Based on the related flashback scene in Winter Soldier.


_(This one-shot was inspired by the flashback in The Winter Soldier where Steve comes back from his mother's funeral. I lifted the conversation they had in the flashback, and plopped it directly into this story, then wrote everything else around it. And I hate the ending because I feel like it's excessively cheesy, but what'cha gonna do?)_

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><p>It was sunny the day the woman came by his apartment, which seemed wrong. It should've been gray out. It should've been pouring the day she came to tell him that his mother was dead. It'd been three months since he'd seen her, and part of him was grateful; she'd still looked almost healthy when she'd gone away.<p>

"It's only for a little while, sweetheart" she'd said. But they'd both known the truth. People went to TB wards to wait to die, not recover. It was the pretty little lie they told everyone; that they'd get better medical care and proper rest so they had a shot at beating it. His mother had been a nurse, though. She'd been working at a TB ward; that's what'd gotten her sick. She knew the odds of recovery were slim. The real reason she'd gone away was to make sure Steve didn't get sick. It was the real reason they sent everyone away - containment.

And while the woman was standing there explaining in what was probably her best sympathetic voice about how his mother was no longer suffering, Steve felt nothing. His chest was hollow. His head felt like it'd come detached from his body. It was racing away, noting the weather, and the kid across the street who was chasing that mangy neighborhood dog that nobody claimed, but everybody fed, even while complaining that it always came around.

"Mr. Rogers?"

He blinked, and refocused on the woman in front of him. What was her name? She'd probably introduced herself, but Steve had somehow missed that part. She was looking at him with concerned eyes, though. The same eyes so many people looked at him with. _Poor Steve, always so sick. Poor Steve, what a frail boy. Poor Steve, his ma is dying, you know. Poor Steve, all alone now._

"Thank you, Ma'am. For telling me." He smiled as best he could, but suspected he must've failed by the way she looked at him before nodding and walking away.

He'd forgotten to ask what they were going to do with her body. Or maybe she'd said. Maybe he'd missed it.

He was cleaning later that day when a knock came at the door. It was too soon. Too soon to start receiving sympathetic neighbors and listening to condolences. The apartment wasn't clean enough yet. Ma would be ashamed of the state it was in.

He paused, rag in hand, when the knock came again followed by a familiar voice.

"Open up, punk. Mr. Fleming said he hasn't seen you leave, so I know you're in there. Lemme in, or I'm bustin' in, like it or not!"

Steve tossed the rag down on the counter, and opened the door. "You can't break my door down; you know where the spare key is."

Bucky smirked, which, other than his _what-the-hell-am-I-gonna-do-with-you-Steve_ face, was his most common expression. "And what fun would that be?"

Steve walked back over to the counter to pick up the rag, leaving the door open for his friend.

The next few minutes were quiet, and Steve's shoulders grew tense as he scrubbed the sink, waiting for the inevitable. He froze completely when it came.

"Heard about your mom."

Steve swallowed back whatever was trying to crawl up his throat. "Yeah? Fleming tell you?"

With his back to the room, Steve couldn't tell whether or not his friend nodded, but he probably had.

"Said he overheard you talking with Ms. Mabel from the hospital while he was putting the cat out. Made me promise to tell you he didn't listen on purpose, and that he's sorry about your ma."

Steve shrugged as he stared down at the sink, completely out of words.

"He said you didn't seem to take the news real well. Made Ms. Mabel repeat herself a couple times. Said it seemed like you weren't listening."

"Sounds like Fleming took a damn long time putting his cat out."

"He ended up keeping the cat inside on account of that mutt running around."

Steve turned around before Bucky could say anything else, which caused his friend to lift his hands in surrender.

"What? You know Fleming's a talker!"

"Buck..."

Bucky stepped closer and plucked the wet rag from Steve's hand, tossing it into the sink. "Come over for dinner, Steve. Ma's making meat pie."

Steve's eyes fell to the floor. He had so much to do. And now it was down to him. His Ma would be counting on him to get everything ready. His blankets were still piled haphazardly at the end of the sofa, and he couldn't even remember the last time he'd swept, but it'd been at least a week.

"Come on, Steve. What are you doing? This place isn't even dirty."

Steve started to protest only to be interrupted.

"I'll help you out tomorrow, Steve. Whatever needs doing, okay? I'll even clean the damn windows if that'll make you feel better."

Steve sighed. Nothing was going to make him feel better; he just needed something to do. But he also knew that protesting further probably wouldn't get him very far. He wouldn't put it past Bucky to haul him out of the apartment by force if it came down to it.

"Okay," he gave in, distantly realizing that he was exhausted.

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><p>It wasn't raining, but at least the sky was gray. Steve sat in the first row of seats in the little church on 2nd street. It was nearly full; well-wishers from the neighborhood had come out to pay their respects to the woman many of them had known all their lives.<p>

In fact, after the service was over and Bucky and his parents had stepped outside to give him some space, it took Steve quite a while to get through with shaking everyone's hand and hearing all their condolences. It seemed like everybody had a little story or some small anecdote about how Sarah Rogers had been there for them when their boy had taken ill, or had checked on their baby for free when nobody could afford to see the doctor.

Steve didn't know how he felt. It was hard to pick individual emotions out of the raging sea inside his chest. Seasick. He definitely felt seasick. He felt tossed and nauseated, and dizzy and confused. He knew that Bucky and his folks would be waiting outside the chapel for him to finish inside, but he couldn't bring himself to join them. When the last neighbor wandered down the aisle and out the door, Steve went through the chapel's side door that led to a small prayer area and then outside. He turned down the path, away from the front of the church, and started walking. He hoped that if he just walked long enough, he'd somehow be able to sort himself out.

But the longer Steve walked, the less sense anything made. Kids were playing in the streets, people were passing him by on their way to the market. He passed bars where he could hear music and loud voices even though it was still only afternoon. It was as if nothing had happened. Nothing at all. His mother was dead. His last blood relative, and the world neither cared nor noticed.

Meanwhile, Steve's world had stopped spinning.

The thought that the world had decided to simply go on without his mother as if her death didn't even matter nearly sent Steve into a panic. He collapsed onto a park bench and spent a few moments just trying to breathe while his heart galloped in his chest like a race horse.

A little voice came from somewhere to his left. "Are you all right, mister?"

Steve blearily looked up to find a boy standing near the end of the bench, a look of concern on his face, but before he could even attempt to form an answer, a woman came and tugged him away muttering something about drunks in the middle of the afternoon.

Steve had no idea how long it took him to make it to the cemetery – not that it mattered. Tuberculosis was so contagious that the dead were buried right away. His mother had been in the ground since before the church service had even begun.

At least they'd put her next to his father.

Now, seeing the graves side-by-side, Steve wasn't even sure why he'd come. No one else was here; no one else would come. People died all the time; it wasn't anything new.

Except it was new to Steve. He'd only ever had his mother, as far as family went; his dad had died when he was just a baby.

Of course, even though no one would be coming to the grave site, plenty had showed up at the little church. Steve had only ever had his mother, but Sarah Rogers had belonged to everyone.

"Hey, Ma," he started, wincing as his voice cracked.

"Sorry I'm late. I walked from the service. A lot of people came to pay their respects, Ma. You mattered to a lot of people. Even Mister Owens was there, and he wasn't even drunk. Everybody talked about how great you were – how much you helped them…" Steve trailed off, swallowing tears.

"I'm so selfish, Ma. I just wish I could have you back. I wish I didn't always have to share you with everyone. I wish –

"I wish you hadn't worked so much all the time. I wish you'd never gone to work in the TB ward."

Speaking the darkest thoughts in his heart left him swamped with guilt. He knew it was his fault that his mother had worked so much. He knew she'd worked to pay for the medicine and treatments he'd constantly needed. If anyone was to blame, it was him. And now his mother was finally done working, finally done suffering, and all Steve could think was that he wished she were back.

Back working her fingers to the bone? Back suffering while the TB ate her up inside?

"I'm sorry, Ma. I'm so sorry." Steve flopped to the ground in front of the grave and wept. He wept until he couldn't see anything. He wept until he couldn't hear anything.

He wept until, finally, he couldn't feel anything. He'd run out of tears.

"Don't worry, Ma. I know you're up there making heaven a better place; I'll just have to share you with the angels now. I'll be okay. I can make it on my own."

The walk home was shorter than the walk to the cemetery had been, partly because it was fairly close to the apartment, and partly because Steve felt like he had a new focus. His mother had given her life caring for him, even when she hadn't always been able to be around. It was time for Steve to take care of himself now. He wouldn't give his mother any reason to worry.

It was still light when he reached his apartment, and just as he suspected would be the case, Bucky was waiting outside.

"We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery."

Steve felt bad for leaving the way he did; Bucky sounded more concerned than accusing.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's – I kinda wanted to be alone."

"How was it?"

_Awful_, Steve wanted to answer. Instead he said, "It was okay. She's next to dad."

"I was gonna ask –"

Steve interrupted Bucky before he got the chance to offer the rescue he was surely about to. "I know what you're gonna say, Buck, it's just –"

But Bucky didn't even let him finish. "We'll put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun. All ya gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash."

As much as Steve appreciated Bucky's attempt, he'd made a promise to his ma; he was going to take care of himself from now on.

Which wasn't starting out so hot, seeing has he was currently searching his pockets for the second time, looking for the key he was sure had been in them. It'd probably fallen out at the cemetery.

Of course, Bucky remembered the hidden key before Steve and moved the loose brick to retrieve it for him.

"Come on," he said.

"Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own." He had to now.

And then Bucky spoke the words that would change Steve's mind, and much later, bring Bucky himself back from the abyss.

"The thing is, you don't have to. I'm with you to the end of the line, pal."

Steve closed his eyes just for a second, feeling Bucky's strong hand gripping his shoulder, hearing a couple of the neighborhood kids playing down the street, and he realized that he'd never really been alone, not since he was little. Not since the little jerk down the street had moved in and decided that the two of them were destined to be friends. Bucky might not have been blood, but he was as good as family. Even when he had nothing, he still had Bucky.


End file.
